"George?" The voice was Ron. "Wake up, you lazy git."

Finally he opened his eyes. Ron wasn't alone, Harry was with him. "What are you doing here?"

Harry shrugged. "I promised I would be back the week after I saw you, but I didn't hold up to that. We," He gestured to he and Ron. "Decided to see if you would contact us first. But since you haven't…."

"We're here to contact you." Ron finished for him. "You haven't left this place in two months." Ron eyed the room around him. "And it shows."

George took offense. "Sod off."

"No, no. Lee and Angelina have been here multiple times trying to help you. We're here for the same reason." Harry added. "We had Ginny and Hermione do some shopping for food. We've already put it away."

"What? How long have you been here?"

"'Bout an hour. And I'm starving. So get up and eat with us." Ron prodded. "If you don't stand up on your own accord I'm going to drag you out by your hair."

"I'd like to see you try." George grumbled rolled over to face away from the two.

"Fine George. Have it your way." Harry said. "But you're getting up whether you like it or not."

Suddenly George was being lift from his bed. Ron's arms were under his armpits and Harry had hold of his legs. George was struggling against them and trying very hard to swing and kick at each of them. "I'm sorry. It's for your own good." Ron told him.

As they waddled to the kitchen the two sat George in one of he kitchen chairs. There was warm food on the table already prepared. "Mum sent this." Ron gestured to the spread. "Thought it might make you miss home enough to come 'round for a visit."

"Oh great. A guilt trip."

"It isn't a guilt trip, George. Just eat some food. You're skinnier than me." Harry pointed.

"Will you leave if I do?"

"No."

George closed his eyes with exasperation. The conversation was reminiscent of the multiple he had had with Lee and Angelina many times in the last month. "You know, if mum and dad miss me so much they could come here themselves instead of sending you to do their bidding."

Ron's face tinged pink with anger. "We're not doing their bidding. Besides, what do you want them here for?" He looked around again. "It's filthy."

"Ron—" Harry tried to cut him off.

"And you smell." Ron said flatly. "When have you last showered?"

"It's really none of your business—"

"It is my business. Whether you like it or not you're my brother." Ron was flustered. "And Harry's basically you're brother. And we love you. And you're being a prat about everything."

Harry eyed the both of them waiting for an explosion.

"Oh, sorry." George drawled sarcastically. "Sorry I'm not dealing with the loss of Fred up to your standards. Up to everyone else's standards. It's not exactly something I thought through—"

"No one thought about it, George." Harry told him. "C'mon, mate. You can't think you're the only one still suffering. Your mum and dad are miserable, but they're trying to move on." He paused. "We all are."

"What do you want from me?" George yelled. "To just forget he existed? To open the shop and change it to 'George's Wizard Wheezes"? Damn it I'm just trying to get through each night. I don't want to move on."

Ron slammed a fist on the table. "You're not dealing with this the right way. How can you do this to mum and dad? To the rest of us? To yourself." He stopped for a moment. "To Fred's memory?" Ron stopped again to inhale sharply. "You're being selfish." He added harshly.

George didn't respond with words. He set his eyes to the floor and his face flushed. He knew he was dealing with it poorly, but he didn't think about it as being selfish. Not even Lee and Angelina had said it in their many arguments.

No one else spoke. George carefully shoveled bacon, eggs, and toast with jelly into his mouth. His body was always so thankful on the days people came over and felt like arguing with him. George didn't have the motivation to feed or cook for himself, but his instincts yearned for food. And there was no better food than Molly Weasley's.

When George's plate was clear Harry grabbed it to take to the sink with is own. Ron added his plate to the pile in Harry's hand so he could clear the table.

"Are you going now?" George asked quietly.

Harry checked his watch. "No. We've got more to do here."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well for one you need to get in the shower." Ron said.

"What for?" George protested.

"Because, you git, I'm not letting you sit here and waste away to nothing. And I won't let you become a stinking pile of troll shit just because you're too bothered to get in the shower." Ron responded.

"Really, George," Harry added. "We're not here to annoy you for no reason. If we didn't care about you we would just let you wither away."

George protested again. "I want to wither away."

"Well too bloody bad." Harry was angry this time. "Go get in the shower or we'll carry you there, too."

"He's not kidding." Ron added.

"Fine." George skidded back his chair and pushed against the table. Again everyone was silent.

OoOoOoO

The walk to the shower was filled with George cursing everyone from Ron to Dumbledore and back again. "Stupid prats. Never asked a one to come here and help me with a fucking thing." He twisted the nobs in the shower. The water was warm almost instantly.

George jumped in and examined himself as the water ran down his back. There was dirt under his nails and by his feet the water was turning a murky grayish-brown. His legs were noticeably thinner than they used to be. His hipbones were staring to become more pronounced. George was embarrassed again. He didn't move for a while. His body was thankful for the warm water. His muscles felt more relaxed.

It was the knock on the bathroom door that jolted him back to reality. "Oy, are you okay in there?" Ron asked from the other side.

"I'm fine."

"You sure? You're taking a longer shower than Hermione. And she has loads of hair."

George felt what could've been the twinge of a smile hit his lips, but he shook it away. Happiness made him feel guilty. "I'll be done soon." He yelled back.

He quickly washed his hair and body and jumped back out to towel off. The towel was wrapped around his waist and he started to brush his teeth. While doing so he caught sight of himself in the mirror. His cheekbones were sticking out and his eyes were sunken and dark on the underneath. His hair was on its way to his shoulders and he had quite a beard growing on his face. George felt sad at his appearance. It felt like ages since he had truly looked at himself.

He blushed. George had never been embarrassed before the war, but with people constantly in his flat he felt it at all times. The invasion of privacy didn't mesh well with his newfound reclusiveness.

OoOoOoO

George walked into his bedroom and pulled on a pair of sweat bottoms and an old Chudley Cannons shirt he had stolen from Ron a long time ago. He felt especially tired now and stumbled into the living room.

"George? Are you alright?" Ron looked at him with concern.

"I—I'm fine. Just tired."

Harry walked over to him. "I, uh, can I feel your head?"

George didn't respond. He was laid back on the couch and his eyes closed already. He could hear Harry and Ron talking, but couldn't much make out what they were saying.

"Is he warm?" Ron asked.

"Too warm." Harry said. "Even for coming out of the shower." The two looked down at George's small frame. He was still very pale. The shower had helped his smell, but it brought out how tiny he was now that his hair was flat and wet to his head and his oversized clothes on him.

"Well, I think we should call your mum and dad." Harry concluded.

Ron shook his head. "George wouldn't want that. We can take him to St. Mungo's. If they say something's serious we can let them know then."

"Fine, fine." Harry looked around. "How are we going to get him there?"

Ron groaned. "I am not carrying him there. Let's try and stand him up." Ron reached over to George and patted his cheek with some force. "George, can you stand? George!"

George's eyes opened slightly and he mumbled incoherently, but he stood up and wrapped his arm around Ron's shoulder. Harry scooped the other side. "Just hold on tight, okay?" Harry said to both of them.

When the familiar lurching sensation of apparition had ceased, George, Ron, and Harry were in front of St. Mungo's. Luckily the street and sidewalks were relatively empty because normal people were at work or school. "Just a few more steps, George." Ron encouraged him.

George was still mostly unconscious; there were sounds he could hear, but they were muffled and he couldn't respond to them. His eyes were only half open and his legs were incredibly weak.

OoOoOoO

"Hello, we need some help." Harry said calmly.

The woman at the front desk hadn't looked up yet and let out an irritated huff. "Well, you'll have to fill out this paperwork before—" She looked up as she was about to hand over the clipboard. "Oh no. You're Harry Potter." She was stammering. "I am so, so sorry. What can we do for you?"

Harry's celebrity status was still uncomfortable for him. "Erm, I, listen. My friend here, George Weasley, he's sick, we think. This is his brother, Ron—"

"Oh yes, Ron Weasley, I know who you are." She smiled sweetly and Ron blushed.

"Listen ma'am, we just need someone to look at my brother."

"Absolutely." She picked up her wand and put it to her throat. "Healer Victors, you're needed in room 113C." The short woman stood up and straightened her robes. "Follow me, please. Oh and let me get him a wheelchair."

The three situated George into the chair and wheeled him down the hallway. "Right here you are, Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley."

"Thanks." Harry told her as she walked out.

The two struggled to get George into the bed and sat down with a 'humph' waiting on the Healer. He arrived after twenty minutes.

"Sorry it took so long, I was stuck helping an older wizard." He walked over to George. "Is this Arthur Weasley's son?"

Ron spoke. "Yes. And so am I. Do you know our dad?"

"I do. Does he know he's here?"

"No, and could we keep it like that until you figure out what's wrong?"

Healer Victors nodded. He began examining George, taking his temperature, moving his limbs, feeling for lumps, look at his pupils, and tugging at his hair. "George? Can you hear me?" George let out a soft mumble. "My name is Healer Victors. Can you answer some questions?"

George was still only hearing muffled sounds, not aware enough to answer anything. The Healer sighed. "Can you lot answer questions, then?"

"I s'pose." Harry said.

"Okay, well has he been getting regular food and water?"

Ron looked at Harry uncomfortably. "Not really, no."

"And he lives alone?"

Ron and Harry nodded sadly. "Ah yes, I'm terribly sorry. I forgot about his twin." He looked at George's bed with a frown. "How often is family visiting?"

"We go as often as we can. He doesn't much like us being there." Harry stated. "But, I know Ron and I have only been twice. The other family members have gone and he's told them to leave. His friends have gotten him to eat when they've been over a few times." He paused and Ron took over.

"And today we brought food and got him to eat breakfast and have a shower. But he was looking thin and raggedy as soon as we got there." Ron paused with a sad expression. "Is he depressed?"

"Well, I wouldn't doubt it. He has all the symptoms—irritability, sadness, loss of appetite—does he get up and about in his flat?" He saw them shake their heads 'no'. "Lack of motivation and energy… you said you got him to shower today?"

"Yeah. I thought it would help him feel better. He's been in a real bad spot for a long time. But when he came out he looked more tired than before." Ron felt a pang of guilt. "Did we do this to him?"

"No, no, truly." The Healer reassured. "I'm just going to run some tests real quick and see if we're missing anything."

George was listening to the voices around him. He was trying hard to make a sound. He couldn't make out what was being said, but the tone was making him uncomfortable. He felt the Healer putting a firm hand on his shoulder and saying something to him. Soon he felt the twinge of a needle in his arm.

"I'll be back with the results in a few minutes."

Ron and Harry sat George up and tried to get him to ingest some pepper-up potion the Healer had left them, but he was so out of it they were scared he would choke on the liquid. Ron had tears brimming his eyes. "It's my fault. I should've checked on him sooner."

"No, it's not. We all should've been more pushy." Harry reassured.

"But, what if he would've killed himself?" Ron cried.

"Ron, he has no evidence of hurting himself. I'm sure he's sick with something else…"

"He was starving himself, Harry. I feel like I've failed him."

"Ron—" Harry was cut off by the sound of the door opening.

"Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter? Is George awake?"

"No, he's still out of it."

"Ah, then it is what I suspect from his results. It looks like a pretty serious case of Scrofungulus." Ron and Harry's confused faces caused him to explain more. "It's flu-like illness. You get it from a small bug that hides out in dark, dingy places. He's probably got a small bite somewhere."

"Will he be okay?"

"Well yes, for now. We'll have to monitor him as he makes improvement." He patted Ron's shoulder. "It was smart of you to bring him in. If it goes unnoticed for more than a couple of hours it can be fatal."

Both of their eyes widened with horror. "Should we call my mum and dad?"

"I think that would be the right thing to do, Mr. Weasley." Healer Victor walked over to George and began hooking him up to IVs that pumped different potions into his system. "I'll have the nurses come by and check him each hour and I'll come back once before my shift is over."

They nodded. "Harry," Ron asked. "Can you get mum and dad? I don't want to leave him here alone."

"Sure thing." Harry walked out of the room.

George felt Ron grab his hand and squeeze it. "I'm sorry, George. I wish you would've reached out on your own." His voice was trembling.
"What if this had happened when none of us were there? What would you have done then, you stupid prat?"

George's eyes were hazy and still only half-opened. His ears were feeling slightly less muffled. He could make out what Ron was saying even if it was far away. His stomach was hurting with guilt. What if he had been alone and too stubborn to contact anyone? Would he be dead… just like Fred? He felt his throat tighten and his lips felt dry, but he had to get it out. He was struggling so hard.

"R-ron?" His voice was weak.

"Yes? George?"

"I-I'm s-sorry." He was starting to feel very chilly. And those three words took almost all his energy. He could feel his self slipping back into hazy sleep, but as he was drifting he could feel Ron squeezing his hand in comforting response.